


Be the Best

by nimrod262



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: BSAA, BSAA NAB, Cerberus - Freeform, Competition, Father-Son Relationship, Finnenson, Green Berets, M/M, Milch Technique, Nivanfield, Shoulder Reduction, Strong Language, US Army, US Army Rangers, sniping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16026914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262
Summary: A Nivanfield tale gifted to Theosymphany for his Birthday, 2018. Piers and Chris are now 18 months into their roles as Director and Operations Director of the BSAA NAB, but they are still facing new foes. In this particular instance it takes the form of Piers' father, General Scott Nivans, US Army. It's a testing time in more ways than one. Sadly it wasn't unlikely. In fact, given the circumstances, it was bound to happen.





	Be the Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theosymphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theosymphany/gifts).



> 'Be the Best' was a popular recruiting slogan for the British Army a few years back. And that's what this tale is all about; being the best. It's also about inspiration. Theosymphany is one of the best Nivanfield writers around imho, and he certainly inspired me when I started writing it. So thank you Theo. And Happy Birthday!

The scene was set.....

The nightmare that Piers Nivans had long dreaded was about to occur. And there was nothing that he or his partner Chris Redfield could do to stop it. He would, in his own words, 'Have to suck it up'. If ever that phrase had come back to haunt him, surely it was now.

"Babe?" Piers had hoped for reassurance.

"Hey, it's no good looking at me Ace. I'm no more thrilled about it than you are. But shit happens. You just gotta' suck...."

The hazel eyes flashed fire. "Don't!" Piers said in the cold, clipped tone that even Chris found intimidating. It was just another part of a train of events that had started twelve months earlier....

General Scott Nivans had made a remarkable recovery from his heart surgery in June 2017. He'd fought it with all the courage and aggression he possessed, which was plenty. And now, one year later, he was back on duty. A new Army appointment. Head of Anti-Bioterrorism Training. Someone in the DoD with a sense of irony thought he should make use of his family connections with the BSAA. After all, they were going to replace it shortly.

And so it came about that Piers Nivans, former-sniper and now Director of the BSAA NAB, had to work with his own father. If there was any consolation, it was the thought that his Director of Operations, one Christopher Redfield, would be at his side. Chris was duly grateful when Piers reminded him that they would be facing Scott Nivans together.

"Thanks Piers.....for nothing!"

****************************

It started out badly.....

Piers and Chris were sat down in the Pentagon to discuss the BSAA's capabilities with the General prior to him setting-up the US Army's own Anti-Bioterrorism Training Program.

Now it was true that Chris had been the catalyst in Piers' newfound relationship with his father a year earlier.But the General's relationship with Chris had remained rather brittle. It could at best be described as precise and professional. Cool rather than cordial. At worst it was angry and antagonistic. The General still wasn't convinced that Chris Redfield was anything more than a triumph of style over substance, of image over ability. A style and image that had inexplicably smitten his eldest son. He didn't buy the inspirational tag, and he certainly didn't understand their love.

For the General, it had brought to the surface his disapproval of the BSAA. They were doing a job he believed the US Army was better able to do; and indeed _would_ do in the near future. For Chris, their relationship had rekindled his dislike of authority. And General Scott Nivans was nothing if not authoritarian. Chris believed only the BSAA had the necessary capability; by virtue of its hard won experience and unique training programs. And so he and Scott Nivans had become rivals. But there was something else too, more bitter than their rivalry. It was jealousy. Both men were fiercely jealous of the other's affection for Piers.

So they both rehearsed their arguments and drew up their battle lines....

"Decades of urban and sub-urban combat in Iraq and Afghanistan have taught us all we need to know Redfield!"

"Your men are not prepared, physically or psychologically, for combat with BOWs General. Monsters that can change form before your eyes. Creatures that were bred solely to hate and kill."

"They're soldiers. They'll adapt, overcome. That's what soldiering is."

"They won't have the time.....

"My son was a soldier. He did."

"Piers was, is, exceptional. But it was still a difficult and painful transition. He'd tell you that himself if you bothered to ask."

And so their arguments continued, back and forth. Neither prepared to give ground or compromise. As a result, their sessions together often descended into a series of skirmishes and ambushes. Guerrilla warfare, with Piers caught in the cross-fire. Their meeting in June 2018 was no exception....

It hadn't been going long before the General was boasting again that US Army training in anti-bioterrorism operations was already the best and that they had nothing to learn from the BSAA. As a founder member, Chris had no option but to rise to the challenge.

"Bullshit! Our _Cerberus_ trained soldiers are far better."

"The BSAA is finished, a spent force...you've had your day Redfield. You and your ilk. Like the dinosaurs, you're all about to become extinct."

Piers looked on, horrified. "Pa! No!" But he was too late.

Chris drew himself up slowly. Expanding his chest and shoulders as he did; his whole body, until he seemed to tower over the General. "Excuse me?" he growled. "Would you like to say that again? In front of the men and women of the BSAA. To the memory of those who gave their lives...."

****************************

.....and it got worse.....

There was a timid knock on Chris' open door in the NAB's headquarters, recently relocated from Washington to Williamsport.

"Come in."

It was a nervous young Corporal from the Communications Center. He was nervous for a number of reasons. He was new in the post, it was his first _Flash_ signal, and there were a string of mandatory protocols and procedures to be followed with such urgent messages. And finally, as if that wasn't enough, there was the legendary Captain Chris Redfield to deal with. The _same_ Captain Redfield, whose inability to follow protocols and procedures, whether they were mandatory or not, was....er.....legendary.

"I have a z,z,Z signal for you D, Director Ops, Sir. For your eyes only."

Chris looked up and smiled. "Zzz? What's that, sleeping? Ha, ha, ha!"

"N,no Sir, Just one Z. It's a _Flash_ signal. Urgent, safety of the n,nation and all that."

"Shit! What's up? Any idea who it's from?"

"BASE Station 7, that's the Master Sergeant for _Cerberus_."

"Andy! Flash? What's he done now? And why send a signal? He's only two miles away!"

"I don't know Sir, Everyone seems to have access to a AMHS t,terminal these days. B,but you have to sign for it first. It's T,Top Secret. So it's in a s,sealed envelope."

Chris tore the envelope open.

"Er, s,signature Sir?"

Chris waved his hand for the Corporal to be quiet. He mouthed the words silently as he read. It was in the standard military ACP-126 message format.

BSWPTT07

RBWPPA

DE RBWP NR O7

Z 181032Z JUN 2018  
  
FM BSAAWP CERBERUS TRAINING UNIT STN 7  
  
TO BSAA NAB HQ D.OPS  
  
WD GRNC  
  
BT  
  
TOP SECRET D.OPS EYES ONLY  
  
TEXT......  
  
BT  
  
BLANK  
  
C WB JERK FRIGGIN  
  
NNNN

Chris skipped over the crap, concentrating on the body of the text. Then he re-read it, putting in the word _Friggin_ before _Jerk_. Andy had certainly got that right! His worried face had now turned to a scowl. He put the signal down on his desk, lost deep in thought.

"Sir. Do you want to reply? You can do it personally."

 . . .

"Ahem, h,hello, Sir?"

"What? Oh, sorry Corporal. Nah, just acknowledge receipt and tell him I'll call."

"Sir? It was sent URGENT."

"And...?"

"And you have to reply....um, Urgently."

"Ok then, tell him I'll call...Soon. There, will that make you happy?"

"Sir, yes Sir."

"Good. If you want me again I'll be in with the Director. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to make a Z phone call. Close the door on your way out please Corporal. Oh, and Corporal, don't be so nervous next time, we're all family here." Chris smiled. "I don't bite....well, not much. Ha!"

Chris picked up his desk phone. "Get me Master Sergeant Walker, and make it urgent, flash, sleepy or whatever. The quick one."

****************************

_"........So there we are Cap. Scuttlebutt reports the Army team will be comprised major elements of the US Army's Special Forces, and the 75th Regiment. The phrase used was "We're gonna' whup their asses and hang em' out to dry."_

"The Green Berets and the Rangers? Damn! You sure old man Nivans really said that?"

_"Verbatim Cap. I got inside knowledge. This lady Sergeant I used to know is on his staff."_

"Can she be trusted?"

_"She still remembers me, and I quote, 'with affection', heh, heh."_

"Ha, ha, ha! We all do Andy. Thanks for the heads-up, I'll speak to Piers and see what he says. Keep your eyes and ears open, but go easy on the Flash precedence in future. You wouldn't believe the whistles and bells that light up here when a Z message comes in. It's only meant for the safety of the nation and that sorta' stuff. Just call in next time!"

_"Gotta' keep you desk jockeys on your toes. So long Cap."_

"Bye Andy, give my love to Rosa."

_"Who?"_

"Er, your wife! You are still married I take it?"

_"Oh, you mean Rosie! Sure, but you can't blame a guy for looking."_

"And what does Rosie say about that?"

_"I dunno'. It's in Spanish and very loud."_

"Keep it in your pants Master Sergeant."

_"Don't worry Cap, looking is all I do these days. I'm a respectable married man now Guvnor, honest!"_

 "Ha! Well, you sure had the practice. Take care old timer."

 _"Hey, I'm not the one he called a dinosaur!"_  

Chris scowled. "You heard about that too? How come? That was supposed to be a confidential meeting."

_"That luscious Second Lieutenant in your secretarial pool, the petit blonde with the big t....."_

"Andy!"

_".....typewriter."_

"She's fired!"

Chris put the phone down. He needed to see Piers, and there wasn't a moment to lose.

****************************

Chris barreled into the Director's outer office, startling the rangy Corporal with his distinctive broken nose; a memento of his trip to Mexico with Piers. 'Tom' Thomas looked up from his desk somewhat guiltily. He hadn't even got the coffee ready yet, let alone got around to ordering the mid-morning donuts.

"Oh, Captain! You're, um, particularly timely."

"Need to see the Boss Tom. Pronto, if not sooner. Just gotta' Flash message from Andy Walker."

"Flash? But that's only for the safety of the nation and...."

"Yeh, yeh, I know...and for this!" Chris waved the signal. "Put up the 'Do Not Disturb' sign Tom. The very future of the BSAA is at stake; and we don't have long to go! Oh, and bring the donuts in with the coffee now, eh?"

"Whilst there's still time you mean Captain?"

"You got it Tom. Prioritize. Always prioritize in this game."

****************************

Chris was standing in front of Piers; the massive arms crossed over the deep chest in his familiar 'no nonsense' briefing stance.

"......That's about it Ace. He want's a four-day competition, us versus them. The US Army, i.e. _your_ father, is already putting a scratch team together, comprised of the Ranger's and Green Beret's finest."

"Finest what?"

"Finest shooters, blower-uppers, hard asses."

"Oh crap! I might have known Pa would play hardball."

"Hardball? This is _cojones_ with a capital K!"

Piers rolled his eyes.

Chris bent down, calloused hands spread out on Piers' desk, and looked his partner straight in the eye. "There's only one thing for it Mr Director."

Piers looked up questioningly. "Not?"

"Yes! Nothing else will do!"

****************************

The rules were agreed and the Umpires nominated. Major Eric Simms for the BSAA and a senior Major from the General's staff. The competition would run for four working days. Two days hosted by the Army at Fort Bragg, North Carolina; followed by two days hosted by the BSAA at Williamsport, Pennsylvania. There would be various exercises in all the basic military skills, plus those essential to fighting BOWs. The team with the most points overall would be declared victorious.

General Nivans had already reserved a space in his trophy cabinet. Whilst Chris had decided the only way the General would get his hands on the trophy would be if it was surgically removed first, Piers' father or not!

****************************

Come the first day of the competition; there was no sign of Piers or Chris amongst the official observers. Tom Thomas ran over from the BSAA C-130 that had just stopped on the visiting aircraft pan. He saluted smartly then delivered a message. "My Directors regret they are unable to attend the commencement ceremony General Nivans Sir. They are currently on Ops. They send their apologies."

"Ops? Apologies? Tch!" General Nivans turned to an aide and smirked. "Redfield's chicken more like. Alright, get on with it then. Assemble the two teams."

Under the rules each team was to consist of seven men plus a nominated reserve. The eight man Army team marched out onto the pan in perfect file...singing a rousing battle song. The team was comprised of four Rangers and four Green Berets. All looked virtually identical. Each one a lean, mean, 220lbs of hard muscle. 6' 3", blond and blue eyed. The military machine's elite. They stood to attention in front of the parade stand, young, vital, glistening under the morning summer sun.

The BSAA's team casually sauntered out from the back of their BSAA C-130, led by Chris with Piers alongside, followed by Andy, Ben, Carl, Finn and Danny. Tom ran over to join them as their reserve. It was the 'old' Alpha, reformed especially for the competition. Everyone was chatting and joking. Only as they approached the stand did Chris call them to order. "Alpha Team! Senior Officer on parade. Salute!"

"What!" General Nivans huffed as he returned their salute. "What's the meaning of this Redfield? Why are you in the team? And you Piers!"

"It's a scratch team, like yours General. Most of us are retired from active duty now, you know, old dinosaurs." Chris grinned evilly. "It only seemed fair. Give your _boys_ a bit of a chance."

Carl and Andy were no longer slim, but Finn still wore his trademark silly grin. He waived cheerily at General Nivans who found, somewhat to his surprise, that he had to stop himself from waiving back. Meanwhile the young Army team surveyed their opponents.

"Those two Captains might be useful."

"Pftt! They both command desks now, they won't be fighting fit."

"The younger one is General Nivans' son."

"He was one of ours once, a sniper. Didn't the General have another son in your outfit? Went AWOL so I heard?"

"We don't talk about that."

"So it's true! Don't suppose the General does either. Ha, ha!"

"Tch! Hey, look at those two old guys, overweight, way past it."

"And that one in the woolen hat looks plain dumb. I mean, who wears a beanie in summer?"

"This is gonna' be a piece of cake. They're gonna' be carrying those 3 all the time."

"Yeh, just like us with you Fobbits."

"Hey, watch it Snake Eater!"

"We got 4 men on this team. You got 3 and a pussy bullet stopper. _Hooah_!"

"That's to finish the job after you fuck it up. And it's _Hurra_ by the way."

Their Captain looked over. "Quit it you two men!"

"Look!" another whispered. "They gotta' GSD with them, with the General's son."

"He's probably a seeing-eye dog for those two geriatrics. Haw, haw!"

"And that weird smiley kid's carrying something under his arm.....it's a mini-drone!"

"So? We've got one too. An MQ-1C _Gray Eagle_. It's already airborne. On patrol at eight thousand feet. The General calls it our Ace in the hole. Our Eagle will chew up their little chick for breakfast and spit out the feathers. Just you wait and see!"

 The Ranger wasn't the only one to comment on Ruff's presence, so did General Nivans.

"And what's that dog doing here? The rules didn't say anything about bringing dogs!"

_"Woof?"_

"They didn't saying anything about not bringing dogs either General." replied Chris belligerently. "Anyway, Sir Ruffington the Third is the team's combat dog."

_"Arff!"_

"What a preposterous name!"

_"Ar-woo!"_

"I chose his name..." said Piers. ".... because he's Chris' and my pet. But I also trained him for distant control under combat conditions."

 _"Huff.”_ Ruff wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Pet?"

"Think of him as the team mascot then General. Like having a pet eagle.....a _Gray Eagle_ perhaps? We picked up your drone transmissions on the flight down by the way....naughty, naughty!" Chris waived a large, admonishing finger.

"Pah!"

 _“Grrrr!”_ Ruff decided he didn't like this man, even if he did smell like No.1 Dad.

****************************

By mid-day the BSAA had enjoyed some notable successes in the broader aspects soldiering, but overall the Army were ahead on points. However, come the morning of Day 2, the Army lead had extended considerably following a bad night exercise for the BSAA. The focus for the second day was to be on auxiliary skills.

Before the competition recommenced, Chris called Alpha Team to a briefing. A no nonsense one.

"Ok. We've lulled them into a false sense of security. Now we need to up the ante. Are you with me Alpha?"

"YES CAP!" The team shouted as one.

"Good, 'cos if not, I'm gonna' kick your butts all over the state of South Carolina....."

“It’s  _North_ Chris, we're in _North_ Carolina." Piers rolled his eyes. "No wonder we lost the navigation exercise!"

"Yeah? Well, I'll kick butts there too!"

****************************

Alpha needed to do well in these tests to have a hope of staying in the competition with a chance.

The team's dedicated snipers had paired-off for an assessment of their camouflage and counter-sniper skills rather than their marksmanship. Piers and Danny represented Alpha, assisted by Ruff, whilst the Army were represented by a long-standing Rangers duo. It was a tough nut to crack. Piers was more used to operating as a marksman alone. And unlike the two Rangers, Danny didn’t have the experience of working in a team. But they had Ruff, and he was quicker, more flexible, and just as noiseless as a _Gray Eagle_ at 8000 ft.

Under Danny's direction, Ruff quartered the ground he and Piers had identified as a probable location. The German Shepherd was working quietly when he gave a low, imperceptible  _‘Huff'_ over his radio link. He'd sensed something.

"Sniper crawl Ruff." Danny commanded.

Ruff crept up behind the two Army sharpshooters. The first thing the sniper knew was a large wet tongue in his face.

"Whoaa!" he'd been concentrating so much ahead, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

BANG! "You’re slotted." said Piers.

As the laser indicator on the sniper's helmet went off, the spotter gave away his own position. "What the f....!"

CRACK! "You too." added Danny.

"Good boy Ruffy, two in one!"

_"Ar-Wooo, Ar-Wooo!"_

****************************

Meanwhile, Finn was making a bomb. His hands moving rapidly, assembling the various components. He looked over to his Green Beret opponent. Not through nosiness, Finn was just being sociable.

The Green Beret looked up scowling. "Shouldn't you be making your own bomb Beanie?"

"To be sure, I was forgetting." Finn grinned, "I've already finished, better put my hand up." The Green Beret threw his unused components back into the tray in disgust.

Next they were both given a bomb to defuse.

"They contain a squib, if you get it wrong, they'll go pop!" warned the Army Umpire.

After a minute, Finn looked over again and smiled. "Oh, don't do that! Cut the red one last."

"What do you know Beanie? Why don't you just defuse your own frickin bomb?"

"Oh, I will....there's no rush now, you're just about to....."

BANG!

".....blow yourself up. Ooh, fire....!"

****************************

In the un-armed combat arena, Chris was facing up to a cocky young Green Beret.

"Come on you old dinosaur show me what you...."

It was the wrong phrase to use. A red mist formed over Chris' eyes. It only lasted a second or so, but that was all the time it took.

".....Huh? Where'd ya go Dino?....Argh....!" CRACK! "...Nngh!"

A trademark back-flip, followed by double-handed blow between the shoulder blades, sent the hapless soldier sagging towards the ground. As he dropped, Chris spun him around to finish him off with a swift head butt. It would have only stunned a _J'avo_ , but the soldier collapsed like a sack of potatoes; his body spread-eagled, out cold. Too late, Chris realized he should have pulled his blow. Immediately both the Umpire's flags were raised.

The Umpires deemed it concussion. An acceptable 'accident' in the circumstances; but Chris was stricken with remorse. Stupidly, he'd let his temper get the better of him. Chris helped his opponent to his feet; insisting Alpha lose a man and offering himself. Whilst Chris continued fussing over the groggy soldier, Piers had arrived to join the discussion between the Umpires and General Nivans.

"It's a more than decent offer General. Will you accept it?"

But the General wouldn't. He wanted to see just what kind of leader Chris Redfield was. "Perhaps the burden of command is too much for him Piers? No, he's not getting away that easily. Nominate someone else."

Piers bit his tongue. "How about Sergeant Alfonso then?" he suggested through gritted teeth.

"But he's one of the fat ones!" complained the General.

"No, it's just my comfort cushion...." said Carl, removing it from under his combat jacket. ".....I hate freezin' my ass on cold floors."

"And what about the other fat one? That Master Sergeant."

Andy grinned. "Who, me Sir?" He pulled out his own cushion. It had a large round hole in the centre.

The General rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me, cold floors again?"

"Bless you no Sir. Hemorrhoids Sir. I suffers something dreadful I does. Boss always says Andy, you're a regular pain in the ass..."

Piers eyes flashed in warning. "Thank you Andy. General? Are you happy with my first choice? Sergeant Alfonso?"

"Yes, yes, whoever! What's with the hemorrhoids thing Piers?"

"Um, I think it's a thinly veiled reference to something Chris said when he opened the BSAA's new Archival Centre a couple of years ago."

"Explain yourself!"

"Well Chris used the wrong word for a repository in his opening speech. It sounded kinda' similar, but it had, um, unfortunate medical connotations."

"You mean a supp.....?"

"Er, yeah. It's been a standing joke on the team ever since."

"You allow your non-coms to be so disrespectful to their superior officers?"

"Um, well Andy is an extreme case perhaps, but then he and Chris go way back."

"Did you learn nothing in the Army Piers?"

"Not how to laugh, no."

"Harrumph! And why does that man sound British?"

"That's his Mockney accent Pa."

"Don't you mean Cockney?"

"No, the emphasis is definitely on the Mock rather than the, um, Cock."

"Oi Captain, I resembles that, so I does." Master Sergeant Walker was keen to re-join the conversation.

Piers arched a latte eyebrow. "Andy?"

"Yes Guvnor?"

"Fock Off!"

****************************

Next up in the combat arena were Danny, fresh from his success in the sniper's test, versus a young Corporal from the Rangers. They were evenly matched. Not just in muscularity, but in looks as well. The Army team had already tagged Danny as being a 'potential' problem. They were right.

The Ranger was strong, but he wasn't used to the rapid succession of move and counter-move in the BSAA's style of melee fighting. So he decided to wear Danny down, clinging on to him, trying to hold on rather than let go and face a new move each time. It wasn't the soundest of tactics. As Danny completed an Irish Whip, the Ranger foolishly refused to release rather than going with the throw. He screamed in agony as the pain shot through his shoulder, his arm hanging limply by his side.

Piers called over. "Sort it out Danny, we can't afford to lose another team member!"

Major Simms raised his flag to signal a pause.

"I'm so so sorry...." Danny apologized. ".....but don't worry, you're in safe hands. Let's get right down to business." Danny started by taking off his tactical vest, then his shirt.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Performing a shoulder reduction."

"Naked?"

"It helps, I find the clothes get in the way. You'll have to take yours off too."

"The hell I will...."

"Just your shirt and tee I mean. Here, let me help, I'll have to cut them free."

"But...Argh! Alright, alright....whatever you say."

The soldier studied his opponent closely. "Hey, I've just noticed Blondie. You haven't got any tats."

"Any what?"

"Tattoos."

"No, why would I?"

"It gives you a sense of comradeship, you know. Belonging to your Regiment or Corps. Being part of the team, like a badge of honor. We've all got tattoos."

"Oh....No, we don't need that. We _know_ we belong on Alpha, it's our family."

"Know?"

"Yes. it's the way Captain Chris leads." Danny smiled. "He's awesome."

"Ok.....wait! You call your Captain by his first name?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I don't even know if our Captain has a first name.....other than Sir."

"He, he! That's funny....and a little bit sad. Oh, I'm Danny by the way. You?"

"Tyler."

"Well, I'm sorry Tyler. This might hurt a bit. I haven't done one for a few weeks."

"Weeks!"

"Um, yeah..." Danny smiled shyly, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I'm a trained physiotherapist. I normally do one or two of these each month."

Danny rubbed his hands together first to warm them, then grasped under the soldier's arm with one hand and around his heavily inked shoulder with the other. "Just relax. I'm going to gently rotate your arm and kinda' massage your shoulder at the same time."

"Ooh...ahh....what was this again? A shoulder whatsit?"

"Reduction. I'm using the _Milch technique_ , I prefer it to the _Stimson_ one, it's more relaxing for the patient."

"Aaah, yeh....I can imagine."

"I'm gradually easing your humerus back into your scapula."

"My what where?"

"Your upper arm back into your shoulder blade. Don't you guys do human anatomy?"

"We get sex lessons. You know, prevention, protection, spot the STD, 101 uses for a rubber."

"Not much use on the battlefield. Most of our BOW encounters involve close quarter combat. Of course, their anatomy is often completely different. You get to learn their weak spots through trial and error. Hopefully with more trial and less error......There, all done. How do you feel?"

"A bit queasy. Can I move it?"

Danny smiled. "No, sorry. You'll need proper medical attention now and the arm will have to be immobilized. You might have a rotator cuff injury."

"How come you're such a wise ass?"

"I'm not just a combat soldier, I'm studying for a doctorate in physiotherapy, specializing in combat trauma. What else do you do?"

"Er......"

"Finny there, he's studying to be a Doctor too; besides being our explosives expert. Junior Captain, he's the Director of the BSAA NAB. Senior Captain's his Operations Director." Tyler's mouth fell open. "Never mind, we can't all multi-task.....I'm sure you're very good at what you do. You ready to move now?" The soldier nodded.

"Good...." Danny looked up at Eric Simms who waved his flag. "....Oh, by the way Tyler, you're now my prisoner. _Carpe Diem_."

"Huh? Is that some sorta' code?"

" _Carpe Diem_ , it's Latin, it means seize the day....and you."

"Fuck that! How 'bout I dislocate your shoulder Danny Boy?"

"You can't, it's held in place by a titanium collar and four screws. But your welcome to try."

"What!"

"Feel it, here." Danny tapped his left shoulder. "Go on, it won't hurt."

Tyler felt Danny's shoulder blade with his free hand. "Oh yeah. Yuk! That's creepy. Er, how come?"

"I was blown up. You've got tattoos, I've got scars....and metal work."

"Oh, crap! I didn't know. Sorry."

"Don't be. My shoulder's better now than it was before. Heh, heh! Yours on the other hand could pop out again at any moment. You need immediate medical attention if you don't want to suffer a permanent injury. A couple of months rest and you'll be good as new."

"Ok, Ok, I'll come quietly. Jeez Danny, are all you guys this fucking weird?"

"Mostly...." said Danny smiling as he carefully helped Tyler up. ".....it's, um, our normal."

Danny called out. "Umpires! I claim this man as my prisoner."

The Army umpire protested weakly. "I was, er unsighted...." he looked to Eric Simms for support. "....they all look the same to me when they're fighting."

"Well I saw everything Old Boy..." Eric winked furtively at Danny and twirled his mustache. "...Your chap was clearly already defeated. If he'd have let go instead of hanging on this wouldn't have happened. Captive awarded to Corporal Svenson....Now let's get him to the infirmary Danny! Nice _Milch_ by the way, well done that man."

Tyler looked at his umpire who simply shrugged his shoulders. "Don't ask me soldier, I'm not a doctor. But then I'm not in the BSAA either."

****************************

When they left Fort Bragg, the Army team still remained ahead on points. Alpha had caught up, but not by enough. However, Chris didn't seem too concerned. As they lined up for the return to Williamsport in the Air Wing Hercules, he ordered the two teams pair-off before boarding.

"Why....?" General Nivans had asked, intrigued and suspicious. "....Is this some ruse to discover why we're doing so well?"

"No. Simply in my experience, if two rival teams sit facing one another, things can sometimes turn, er, boisterous, shall we say? This way we encourage the exchange of ideas and comradeship, not set up a brawl. Communication not confrontation. You should try it yourself sometime."

"Hmm...." General Nivans had to admit it was a good idea, but he was loathe to say it out loud. This man Redfield certainly continued to be full of surprises. ".....let's hope so."

In fact, everything was going according to Chris' plan. He'd purposely screwed up on the nighttime navigation exercise, though he hadn't told Alpha that. He knew he'd cut it fine, but his plans always seemed to go better when no one else knew what they were. The young Army team were getting overconfident. But tomorrow Alpha would have the 'home' advantage. And tomorrow there was to be a sniping contest....

Inside the 'Fat Albert', Finn was all for communicating. He grinned at the Ranger sat next to him. "Hello, I'm Finn Macauley. What's your name?"

The soldier sighed. How come he'd got the short straw and drawn the Beanie? He'd preferred the big blond. "Er, I'm Steve."

"Steve Lol...?" Finn tried to read the soldiers name-tag. "...Lolpalski. Russian?"

"No, Polish! 4th generation."

"Me too."

"What, Polish?"

"No, Irish."

"Huh? Never mind. Er, why don't you have them?"

"What, Poles?"

"No! Name tags, on your uniforms."

"We don't need to, we all know one another."

"Oh, that sounds nice. Normally we're just surnames, you know, cogs in the machine."

"That's a shame. We're all family."

"What! Like related? I _knew_ there was something funny...."

"No silly, Captain Chris' family. He's awesome." Finn waved, Chris waved back.

"Er, who's that tall, blond one over there? He looks useful. He captured one of the Green Berets yesterday, hospitalized him."

"That's Dan and you're right, he is useful. He's great around the house, you don't need step ladders an such with my Dan about. No shelf is too high or out of reach."

"Um, _your_ Dan?"

"Yes, he's my husband."

"Your husband! Is that allowed?"

"Well, I don't know about the Army, but it's Ok in the BSAA, ask Captain and Captain."

"Captain Redfield and the General's son....married? I'd heard rumors, but....."

"Well, as good as. They've exchanged donuts."

"Donuts?!"

"Yes, it was symbolic."

"I see." said Steve slowly, although clearly he didn't.

"Ben's free though, if you want me to put in a good word." continued Finn cheerily.

"Uh, which one's Ben? No, wait, I didn't say that!"

"I think you did. He's the tall, sandy-haired one, sitting over there. Still single, he's army barmy."

"No, really...er, him with the cute pale-green eyes?"

"Yes." Finn waved again, and this time Ben waved back. "It's all right, I can keep a secret, everyone one says so."

"Oh, right..." Lolpalski waved bashfully and Ben waved back a second time, smiling.

"That's a good sign." said Finn. "Tell you what, why don't we swap buddies? Captain won't mind. Then you can get to know Ben and I can talk to your team's explosives man."

"How do you know it's him?"

"Cos he's got no eyebrows. We've all been there, tehee."

Overseen by a fussing Finn, the two Army soldiers changed places.

"Hello, er, my name's Steve. I hope you don't mind me swapping." the Ranger smiled shyly as he put out a strong hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Ben gave a shy smile of his own. "Hi, I'm Ben."

"Your man Finn says you're army barmy?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Always have been. I just love everything about it."

"That's cool. Uh, _I’m_ in the Army." Steve blushed. "Sorry, that was a bit obvious...."

Ben grinned. "It's Ok. You had me from 'Hello'...."

Finn re-crossed the aircraft cabin and sat back down in his seat next to the Green Beret's explosives expert. "Hi, remember me? We didn't have time for proper introductions before. My name's Finn. Well it's not actually, it's Finnbar, but even I call myself Finn."

"How could I forget? I'm Mark."

"Mark...?" Finn peered at his jacket. "Oh! You haven't got one, a name-tag."

"It's Greenbaum...Mark Greenbaum. No, it got burnt, when that damned squib went off. Before you threw yourself over me to smother the flames....er, thanks for that by the way."

"Oh yes...I've been meaning to talk to you about that Mark. The squib I mean, not the smothering. Though we can talk about that as well if you want to. But it's probably better to start with prevention rather than cure as my Gran always says. I'm the team's exploding expert. And I'm the team's medic, but we'll save that for later too. Oh, and I've also got second sight. But I don't see that cropping up. Anyway Mark, I think I can help you stop exploding prematurely. You see, what you're doing is building up static electricity. You need to use an anti-static device..."

Almost in spite of himself, Mark found he was listening to Finn. The 'Beanie' was strangely interesting.....

****************************

The  _Home on the Range_ C _afé_ was packed to the rafters. Up till now, the competition had been conducted behind closed doors. But anyone who was not on duty at the Williamsport base had decided to turn up at the shooting range and watch the show. And 'Old' Alpha didn't disappoint. Andy and Carl were not outstanding marksmen in the sense of their two Captains. However, they equaled their Army opponents in the small arms tests. Then it came to the sniping, and Alpha was in a league of its own. The BSAA team slowly began to eat up the points difference as soon as Finn and Danny started shooting. And when Chris and Piers got on the long distance range the opposing Army snipers found them unbeatable. But Piers hadn't quite finished. He suggested a head to head using Anti-Materiel Rifles. Himself versus the Army's best shot.

The General's staff protested. "AMR's weren't in the rules."

"They're a vital tool in combating BOWs. They have obvious range and firepower advantages." said Chris hotly. "You do _use_ them I suppose, or can't the Army's elite handle an M107?" It was a deliberate provocation.

"Of course we can!" exploded the General. "The Army can use anything."

"Then what's the problem?"

Someone in the crowd made a chicken noise. Others joined in.

Chris put his hand up and immediately there was silence. "Well General?"

General Nivans looked at his team's Captain. "Who's your best marksman?"

"Lolpalski General."

"Get him on that range."

Piers called up Rick, his old friend and always his favorite ‘target man’. "Single targets for Lanes 2 and 3 please Rick. _Tophie’s_ going head to head with an M107. Five rounds each per target, starting at 1500m and working down."

"Roger that Piers, the big boy's toys eh? I'll let you know when I'm ready."

Whilst Rick set up the new targets down range, Piers checked that Sergeant Lolpalski was familiar with the set-up.

"Alright Steve. We'll start at 1500m, beginning in the prone position, Ok?"

"Yes Sir. Er, Captain, is there any other position? We're using AMRs after all."

"You worried about recoil? Don't be. You know the rifle is designed to minimize it. The muzzle brake, the recoil-operated action, and the one people always forget about, its weight. Don't ever try and reduce that weight, it's your friend. It's all in the balance, the rifle's _and_ yours. _Tophie_ here comes in at 29 pounds...."

Piers spun his prized rifle around as if it were weightless.

".....I could get him down to 26, 25 at a push. But his mass soaks up the recoil energy too, through inertia. So, customize the grip, the butt, the stock, but don't sacrifice the built-in aids. Next, despite what you hear, firing from kneeling and standing _is_ possible. Look for natural supports around your position. A boulder, a wall. You can use bungee cord and strap your AMR to a tree for a standing shot. If not, just use your body as the support. Reverse-kneeling works for me, but my favorite position is sitting cross-legged. Fill in the gaps in your posture with kit bags, sand bags, whatever you've got to hand. Whatever it takes to give yourself a stable base to shoot from."

"Jeez, you've really thought about this Sir. But what if it's just you and er,  _Tophie_?"

Piers tapped his head. "You're a sniper, you know all about the mental preparation. Think through the problems to the end result. I'm not saying you could kneel or shoot all day, but then if you're good, you only need to hit the mark once. Am I right?"

"Yes, Sir. Um, do you give lessons? I think I might need some."

"Ha, ha, then watch and learn Sergeant. That's why I'm called the Ace."

"Ace?"

"Yeah, I never miss." Piers said it matter-of-factly. Then he grinned. "Now, since we don't have the luxury of spotters in the BSAA, wind speed and direction are indicated above the butts at the end of the range. Can you see it?"

Steve looked through the Leupold Vari-X scope. "Yes Sir, bit of a crosswind, almost 10 mph."

"He, he, there always is here. Still, it makes it interesting. Could mean 12 ft drift at one and a half clicks. And don't forget your elevation. Keep factoring every single shot, don't let tiredness get the better of you. And make full use of your barricade for support, that's what they're there for, Ok?" Piers put his hand out. "Remember, make your own luck."

Lolpalski shook it warmly. "Thank you Sir, I think I'm gonna' need it."

Rick's voice came over their headsets. "Marksmen, your targets are up, lanes 2 and 3. The range is clear. You may start when ready."

"Take 5 shots to get your eye in, then we'll start....Rick, Lane 2 is gonna' take 5 rounds to warm up. You copy?"

"Roger that Piers."

As they started shooting in earnest, Piers consistently hit the centre circle, Steve Lolpalski managed one in two. When Piers got into the cross-legged sitting position, his elbows resting on his knees, and still hit the bull, the soldier tried to emulate him. His first shot knocked him over and put him flat on his back. Piers helped him up. "Don't copy me, you're not there yet. Use your barricade, like I said."

And then Piers started to show off, just a little. He didn't usually do that, at least not in public. Out alone with Chris, or in the privacy of their bedroom, it was a different story. There they were both exhibitionists, both very competitive. It spiced things up, giving an edge to their relationship. But Piers had always liked to keep his public and private life separate. So a watching Chris knew that this display was not for him, or the BSAA, not even for the US Army. It was, however, very much for Piers' father. A demonstration of ability by the 'Oh so disappointing' son. A justification for giving up the family tradition of an army career and joining the BSAA. And above all, a personal statement of what Piers Nivans was, the Ace, the best.

When Piers started firing from the standing position, Lolpalski laid his rifle down and raised his hands in submission. "Ok, Sir, you got me beat. How 'bout I just sit and watch."

Piers laughed, and finished off his rounds from a variety of positions; carefully explaining each one to an attentive Sergeant and an equally absorbed audience.

General Scott Nivans looked on in amazement. His cherished competition was turning into a master-class before his very eyes. And it was Piers giving the US Army the lesson. The father watched his son with a curious mixture of awe and pride.....they weren't emotions he was used to. "That's my boy!" he said quietly, to no one in particular.

"Er, General, aren't you meant to be on our side Sir?" whispered a perplexed Army Captain.

Not far away, Chris watched with a huge grin on his face. He slapped Andy on the back. "That's my boy!" he said loudly whilst proudly puffing-out his chest.

“That’s  _our_ boy Cap. Alpha's Ace."

Afterwards, Ben put a consoling arm around Steve Lolpalski's shoulders. "Don't beat yourself up over it Buddy, that was one battle you were never gonna' win. They don't call him the best in the BSAA for nothing. Come on, I'll buy you a beer in commiseration. The competition's over for today."

"Do I have to drink it standing up?"

"Heh, heh! No, sitting's usually best. But we can try the prone position later....."

****************************

Barely had the fourth and final day's competition begun when it was suddenly cancelled. The NAB had received a Code Orange alert from BSAA Headquarters in England with a report of a Zombie outbreak in French Guiana. HQ had decided that Piers and Chris would control the operation from Williamsport; and the NAB's 24hr standby team were brought to immediate readiness. It was the real Alpha, led by Capt Dave Johannson. However, 'New' Alpha, as the team were nicknamed by the other SOUs, were a man down through sickness and Ben quickly volunteered to fill in. Steve Lolpalski wondered out loud if he could accompany Ben and the team. Chris overheard them and thought it was a great idea.

"Why don't you see if all the Army team can go Piers? It would be a useful learning experience. What do you think General?"

"I have to agree with you for once Redfield. If you can get inter-governmental blessing it has my approval. Well son, can you do it?"

"I don't know, but I know a lady who does." Piers got on his cell straightaway.

"Who's he talking to Redfield?" the General whispered.

"Our UN representative I guess, Ambassador Hayley. He tends to go straight to the top. Gets it from me I think. Ha, ha!"

"Madam Ambassador? It's Director Nivans........We have a Code Orange, yes, French Guiana....Uh, huh, we're readying our team, there's an airfield at _Regina_ we can use......yes.... no problem. Ma'am, I have a special request. We're co-hosting a US Army team with General Scott Nivans....Yes, he is......he's my father....They'd like to accompany our SOU team....Yes, by his authority.....No, they would have to be armed and active...."

Piers looked to Chris for confirmation. He nodded.

".....No, there's no other option....We can't afford hangers-on....Yes, thank you....Remind their Ambassador about Venezuela.....No, I don't think he'll forget either.....Thank you Ma'am.....Yes....My ADC will send the personnel details soonest.....Goodbye." Piers hung up; then beckoned someone with his hand. "Tom, on me!"

Scott Nivans looked on as Piers and Tom conferred. When he spoke it was with a new found sense of awe. "I'm amazed Redfield. Piers seems remarkably confident and at ease, dealing with Ambassadors no less!"

"I told you once before your son deserves respect, this is why General."

"That seems a lifetime ago Captain."

"Not really. Piers is a quick learner. Didn't take him long to figure out Politicians don't like questions, they like answers, a bit like Generals. Ha, ha, ha!"

"Hmm, I deserved that I suppose. Er, so what do I call you now Redfield? Captain or Director Ops?"

"My friends usually call me Chris, but whatever makes you comfortable." Chris took out his own phone. "Excuse me, I need to make some urgent calls myself."

"Of course."

In the distance, a C-17 transport had began its engines start, attended by a flurry of ground vehicles. A minibus arrived and collected Ben and the Army team.

"Pa, Chris. We'd better get to Ops now, you coming? Tom, have you got that information yet? Good lad! Send it to Ambassador Hayley's office, immediate precedence. Oh, and copy HQ, the Air Wing and the DoD. Eric, can you get some emergency inoculations to the aircraft ASAP please? They can be administered en-route by the clean-up team. Chris, will you contact the armory? Tell them double rations today....."

Chris grinned. "I'm glad you left me something to do Ace.....already on it!"

Piers clapped his hands, hazel eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Come on folks, let's get this show on the road!"

As they got into the Humvee that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, General Nivans had to admit it was a slick operation. His team had better not let him down!

****************************

It wasn't the same Army team that returned with 'New' Alpha four days later. They were no longer bright and shiny. Rather they were grim-faced, their uniforms tattered and torn, still carrying the brown stains of dried blood. The blond hair was matted and the blue eyes dulled. They all stank of cordite and stale sweat.

Captain Dave Johansson led the teams out of the back of the C-17. Beside him his deputy, Lieutenant Pete Carver. Ben Airhart led the enlisted men; recently promoted Corporals Rick Harrison and Raúl Fonseca and the team's two new rookies. 'Rock and Roll' were still arguing over who'd made the first slot. Chris grinned, he knew that was a good sign as he, Piers and General Nivans went to greet them.

"Good work Alpha! Get yourselves washed and brushed up lads, and then get something to eat...." said Chris. "....We'll de-brief fully in two hours. Dave, I got your preliminary combat report thanks, just a couple of burning questions from Command, Ok?"

"Sure Chris. Those bastards in London always want more don't they?"

"Ha! Tell me about it. Don't worry, it won't take long, then you can get cleaned-up with the others."

General Nivans spoke to the Army team leader. "How did it go Captain?"

The Captain looked at him, two white eyes staring from a grime covered face. He shook his head. "I don't know where to begin General, I really don't. Excuse me, I'd like to tend to my men first Sir. I'll report to you later if I may?"

The General nodded silently as the Captain raised a tired arm and saluted. Scott Nivans returned the salute then turned to his son. "Piers?"

"It's Ok Pa. The first mission always gets you like that. They're still in shock. They'll get over it.....eventually."

****************************

That evening Piers brought everyone together in the all-ranks club. An informal venue, where rank and protocol could be forgotten and the combat teams could relax after their operation. General Nivans couldn't remember the last time he'd been in such a place. Of the four men sat round the table he was by far the most uncomfortable. What made it worse was that at the end of Day 3, the BSAA and the US Army had been neck and neck on points. There was no clear winner to announce.

Chris decided to break the silence. "So do you wanna' finish the competition then General? We haven't had a chance to use the 'mock' urban area we showed you over." But before the General had time to reply, the Army team's Captain spoke out.

"If I may General.....?" he looked at Piers and Chris. "......Your men, the BSAA, won the competition in _Regina_. I don't think we'd have made it out alive without them, without their expertise and professionalism. On behalf of the team Sirs, I thank you...."

Chris and Piers smiled, but they didn't reply. What was there to say?

The Captain continued. ".....General, I have to report that even with our current skills and training, the US Army is not, in my opinion, ready to undertake bioterrorism combat missions. I shall be putting that in my formal report to you on this whole operation. Our hosts here always had it in the bag."

"And is that the opinion of your men too Captain?"

"It is Sir. Bottom line, we don't want to win the trophy. It doesn't belong to us."

The General was silent for a moment. "Thank you Captain. After what I've seen, I, ahem, am inclined to agree. Piers, can we get everyone together please? I think it's time for me to make the presentation."

Piers had to pinch himself. "Er, certainly Pa....let's go find our teams." Piers got up to leave with the Army Captain. "Oh, and Chris, do try and behave whilst I'm gone. You too Pa, Ok?"

"Well, well. He who runs away lives to fight another day eh?" Chris couldn't resist the jibe.

"I prefer the term tactical withdrawal Captain."

"Ha!"

"However, it has certainly been educational _and_ surprisingly enjoyable. Perhaps we should make it an annual event? I still think that trophy would look better in my office! Next year it will be!"

"In your dreams General! So, us dinosaurs get a reprieve then?"

"Yes, but only temporarily. Change is in the air Redfield.....everywhere. For the BSAA, even for the US Army. Whether _we_ like it, or not."

****************************

Later that evening Chris scanned the room with the practiced eyes of a hawk. There was Finny, deep in conversation with a Green Beret who had no eyebrows. Next to them, Danny was swinging his arms about, demonstrating something to a Ranger with his arm in a shoulder sling. At another table Andy and Carl were holding court with a couple of Green Berets, telling tall tales and lewd jokes if the ribald laughter was anything to go by. And Tom was swapping notes with the Army reserve. They both agreed they were worth a lot more than they were paid. 'New' Alpha were there too, winding down from their Op, along with the clean-up team and some hangers on.

Chris turned to Piers, his heavy brows knitted into a frown. "We're a man down Ace. Where's Ben? It's not like him."

"Er, he and that Ranger Sergeant are setting up a Liaison Team."

"Liaison Team?"

Piers rolled his eyes. "You _know_ Chris, the BSAA and the US Army....... _getting together_."

"Oh.....OHH! Well, well, who'd have thought it?"

"Finn apparently....."

"Ha, ha, ha! Perhaps he saw it coming."

****************************

".....best training we've ever had General, working with these guys. We need their program Sir.... _Cerberus_ they call it." The army team Captain sounded enthusiastic.

"Yes, I know.....my eldest son devised it."

"Then you should be able to get us on board easily Sir, it being in the family and all."

"Yes...family, that's what beat us in the end. Look at them!" the General gestured at the room. "They're all like one damned big happy family...it's their strength, and our weakness, my weakness. It's taken me the best part of nine years to find out. Well, even an old Army dinosaur can learn.....I'd better sign up for the course too; lead by example, like my son, like his...." he paused, a word had caught in his throat. ".....like his partner."

****************************

General Scott Nivans decided to swallow the bitter pill. The best team _had_ won. He straightened himself, pulled his shoulders back, and walked slowly towards that very man. If West Point had taught him anything, it was how to conduct oneself. It was all about standards. He put his hand out. "Captain Redfield, I didn't say it earlier. Congratulations. I owe you an apology. Several in fact......"

Chris shook the hand and smiled. "No need, I'm pretty thick skinned. Must be the dinosaur in me. Ha! Besides, I knew you'd come around eventually."

"You did?"

"Of course. You're Piers' father. You can't be _all_ bad."

The General looked open mouthed at first, then slowly his face broke into a broad grin. "Oh Redfield! Sometimes I can almost grasp what my son sees in you. Ha, ha, ha....!" Chris joined him in the laughter. It was, after all, as close as Scott Nivans would ever come to giving his seal of approval. ".....Drink Captain?"

"I thought you'd never ask General. Large whiskey please, no water."

"Good man...."

......Scott Nivans knocked back his second scotch and chuckled. "Did you really say suppository?"

"Three times."

General Nivans looked over to his eldest son. "What did Piers do?"

"Buried his head in his hands. I thought he had a headache! Then he did all that face-palming stuff."

"Ha, ha, I wish I'd been there."

"I'm glad you weren't! It was embarrassing enough. I should have listened to Piers and let him write the speech."

"He's good at so many things. I never realized."

"He's my shield."

“The  _famous_ Captain Redfield needs one?"

"All the time. He protects me from myself."

"I think I understand."

As they leaned on the bar, talking quietly, Scott Nivans looked at his son once more through misty eyes and shook his head; speaking to himself as much as to the tall man who stood by his side.

"What a fool I've been. All those _wasted_ years. It's been me that was the disappointment, as a role model, as a father. He's been a true Nivans all along, the best....."

A large, friendly paw landed on the General's shoulder and a deep voice rumbled in his ear. "Then why don't you tell _him_ that?"

The General looked up, wiping the moisture from his eyes. He patted the hand. "Thank you Chris, I think I will."

He walked over uncertainly, not quite sure what to say. "How did you do it son? Beat us."

Hazel eyes sparkled. "It's simple Pa, we just all do the things we're best at. Be the best. You taught me that when I was growing up. Perhaps you've forgotten, but I never have."

"Then the better man won Piers. I should never have doubted your abilities, or those of the organization you and Chris lead. I apologize son, for everything. Will you shake my hand?"

Piers arched a latte eyebrow. "No, I won't shake your hand General.....But Fathers, well, they're family, and they get hugs....."

**Author's Note:**

> Scott Nivans and Sir Ruffington the Third are characters from RedfieldandNivans. Their characterisation here is my own. Cerberus and ‘donuts' are the imaginings of Theosymphany. Thanks guys, as ever.


End file.
